Desolate Days
by newbluemoon
Summary: Bruce is loosing himself under the strain of Batman. Will he always be alone? Written for Knight Vs Anarchy, prompt- New Year's Eve. Slash b/j , implied sex, unbeta'd. Disclaimer- NOTHING BUT THE PLOT IS MINE. AND THAT PROBABLY IS DC'S TOO. NURR.


**Author's Note:** Okay, so this as _supposed_ to be for Knight Vs Anarchy, but I got home late and missed the deadline. Unbeta'd quick fic written in less than an hour. I'm not really happy with it, but I figured you guys might want to read it anyway. AGAIN, I am so sorry for the god damn fluff. I can't seem to help it. I will write a story where they have angry hate sex at some point, but right now I can't stop freaking writing them all lovey-dovey and angsty. Gah. Oh well. Maybe it won't suck entirely. Also, reviews are love. :D

***

Dragging his bulk of armour from his sweaty, blood kissed skin, Bruce stumbled into the room adjacent to the cold, dingy batcave. As the hard, inky pieces hit the floor like a snake shedding it's skin, becoming something new, the cool air caressed his bare flesh and _finally_ he could breath. The batsuit was heavy and constricting and it took a lot of strength to wear it night after night after night. In more ways than one. He approached a simple full length mirror, a thin coat of dust obscuring a complete view, and surveyed the damage. His firm, muscular chest was riddled with gashes and scrapes, crimson liquid flowing over old scars. Like they were becoming reborn. Alfred regularly questioned what good all of that armour did when Bruce would return home as the golden sun began peaking through the jet-black sky each morning looking as though he'd stepped out of a cheap slasher film. Though they both knew if it wasn't for the bat, he'd merely be a man. And men die. So for that, Alfred was grateful.

Sighing, Bruce moved over to the sink, his steel-toed boots harshly hitting the cold floor on the way, and turned on the tap. Holding his hand out, he watched, fascinated as the see-through liquid turned a dark red as his life essence slipped down the drain. It could be that easy. To let it all slip away with no more effort than cleaning his wounds. You just had to know the right people. Hang out with the right crowd and if his night time companions weren't the right crowd, then Bruce didn't know who was. He'd come close to giving in tonight. He had edged the deep chasm of death and found himself longing to fall as a knife sank dangerously close to his jugular. And it was a nobody. Not one of the many so called 'Super-villains' that he faced. Not even a member of the mob. Just some little street punk who had gotten a little too lucky. But Bruce had felt himself being beckoned by the siren call of surrender. He was tired and this struggle was becoming futile. Crime was building more and more every night and he was just one man. He could barely hear the voice of the bat these days. It was a merely a whisper in the back of his brain. So easy to ignore. So easy to _just give in._

But then the muffled scream of a gagged girl pierced his thoughts and awoke the sleeping beast. He can't. Not yet. With an inhuman roar, he shoved the knife wielding criminal off of him and pounced up, feeling the familiar bestial, blind fury of his alter-ego flow through his veins. The boy, only about 19, hit his hat-covered head on a grimy brick wall and fear flowed freely in his murky eyes. He scrambled, trying to stand up and escape the wrath of this creature, but the cracked tarmac was slippery, and he kept shrinking. Shrinking under the monstrous form approaching him with hatred plastered over his face. And it was hatred. Bruce could've been a happy, normal man. He could've swept Rachel off her feet as they entered a vow of matrimony. And failing all else, he could've died peacefully. But it was men like this, vile scum like this, who kept on clawing at him to come back. Who would lead him into gangrenous alleys where the air was filled with the sickly taste of salty blood, and the odour penetrated even kevlar covered nostrils to stir up vomit in his throat. And they were like a plague, infecting new men each day. Spreading like a disease as it came in to contact with average people and corrupted them until all that was left is an army of tormentors. And Bruce knew he would never die _peacefully._ And it was this thought that had him charging at the cowering man, batarang in hand, ready to kill. And just as he brought it above his head, the man sank down so he was flat out lying on the floor, surrendering it would seem, and Bruce's eyes grew wide.

The filthy alley floor, the freezing icy air, the sobbing woman. The man, the human being spread out on the wet ground, waiting for death. He'd been here before. His father's face flashed before his eyes and the hand holding his weapon fell slack and it floated to the ground, the hard 'thunk' echoing through the night air. He stepped back, horror evident on his face. Closer than edging death, he had tight-rope walked along the line of murder. He had been so ready to do it. So prepared to take the life of another person. Not an 'innocent' person, but a _person._ He glanced at the woman who was tied to a dumpster and struggled to get his bearings. He was the Batman. He had come to save this woman and apprehend this man. He had a purpose. He had one rule. He was a hero, not a murderer._ He was a hero_.

And so, he had cuffed the man who declined to fight it, faster ,he thought, than he'd ever cuffed anyone before, his fingers desperately,trying to do it as quick as possible and remove themselves from all contact with what he'd almost become. Practically stumbling, he walked over to the dumpster and undid the rope binding the hysterical female. He gruffly told her to leave, resenting her for getting in this mess almost as much as he resented the underworld of Gotham, and she ran. Ran fast. Just like he _wished_ he could. But he had to stay here, had to take this one of many to Gordon. Had to play the _hero._ But for how long.?

Frowning, Bruce observed the way the last of the blood ran through the water and it returned to it's see-through state. Not so much as a hint of the former glorious red remaining. He wondered if this is as simple as he would be forgotten. No more than a filthy colour, polluting the clear water as it washed it away. Yanking his hand back from the sink, he began to dress himself in simple navy slacks, neglecting to clean or dress the rest of his wounds and made his way upstairs.

He entered the newly built Wayne Manor, a shell of what it was. There were no memories hidden in these walls. No lingering, residual energy of it's former inhabitants. It was empty, like Bruce. Climbing the stairs, he passed the shrine to the sleeping quarters of his parents and silently entered his own sleeping area. It wasn't a bedroom. _'Bedroom'_ alluded to a place where you could be comforted. Where the warmth of familiar surroundings would lull you into a warm slumber and, if you were lucky, the arms of your loved one would close around you. Shielding you from the outside. This was a place where his fears and nightmares could run riot in his sleep deprived brain. Where he could think over every last thing that would pollute his conscious until there would be no where to fall into but a shallow, painful sleep.

Closing the door softly so as not to alert Alfred to his presence just yet, he noticed a chilly wind slither through the room. Looking up, his gaze fell upon the polished white French doors to his balcony. They were open, a silk curtain fluttering in the breeze. Odd. As curiosity developed within him, he waited for apprehension or suspicion to join it. However, he felt strangely calm. As though this felt familiar. Like deja vu, only not for something that you thought had already happened, but for something that should happen. Something pre-written. Walking over, he pushed the curtain aside and entered the cool night air for the umpteenth time that night. The darkness out here was different to the darkness of the city. Here in the Palisades, there were no jaundiced glows or flashing neon lights, just the shine of the stars and the soft caress of the moon. Even the air tasted clean. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes and let the wind sooth his battle wounds.

"Nice, isn't it?" a nasal voice asked, piercing the silence. Still, Bruce felt nothing but calm. The negativity of the day hiding from view for a few sacred moments. He didn't need to ask questions. He knew exactly who was next to him, breathing his air and he didn't really care. At all.  
"It is" he felt his voice reply smoothly. No gritty, gruff tone. And it felt good to speak to him this way. Turning his head, he let his eyes wander over the man perched cross legged on the wall. He hadn't bothered to disguise his scars, but had changed from the gaudy purple suit into a simple white t-shirt and baggy blue jeans. His hair looked recently washed and fell in his eyes, dirty-blond curls obscuring familiar green orbs. He should feel out of bounds. Unnerved. Anything but calm. But he didn't.

Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the cool balcony walls as he gazed out at the grounds he used to love as a child before everything turned black. It seemed more beautiful tonight. The delicious green of the grass standing out proudly under the moonlight. He remembered from his high school English class that green in poetry symbolised naivety and innocence. Just like he held back then. Now all he could see in the green was the man in his company, and how fitting that was.

"Do you ever think about giving it up?" Joker asked, his voice more sane than Bruce had ever heard it before. Bruce almost smiled. Well, what did he expect? Of course Joker would be on him like a bloodhound as soon as he suspected that Bruce may be considering leaving their '_game'. _Hell the maniac could probably sense it.  
"You know I do", he answered without turning to look at the blond. He closed his eyes, letting the surrounding scents and sounds sink in. Waiting for his sense, his mind to rejoin him. But it seemed he was on his own in this. He still couldn't summon enough energy to give a damn. Moving his blue eyes to meet emerald ones, he sighed.

"You do too, right?". Joker allowed a small, humourless laugh to play in his throat, a knowing smile gracing a pink, ruined mouth. Gloveless hands brushed dingy-golden hair out of his eyes as he echoed Bruce's sigh.  
"But we're stuck". Three words confirmed everything Bruce knew and feared and his entire body winced under the power of the simple phrase. He would, _they would_, have to carry on, battling for the rest of their lives. Not knowing when they'd die, but knowing they'd die alone. The thought didn't hold any semblance of comfort. Bruce looked at his enemy His mouth was turned down and his brows were knotted together, as if he was mirroring Bruce's thoughts.

It was so dreadfully cold out here now. It was so cold on your own. The bitter, howling wind which was in actual fact merely a cool breeze whipped at his skin and he just wanted to sleep. Wanted to be enveloped in that warmth he longed for. Wanted to be held. And knowing all that waiting for him was a cool, hard empty silk covered bed caused the hollow sensation he had adopted to return tenfold. His form racked with a shiver and he bent down and lay his head on his arms, hiding from the truth of the world.

He heard a scuffle and padding footsteps and then he was wrapped in warm arms, a pleasant body heat cradling him from behind, a sign of compansionship. Of comradary. He picked his head up and turned to face the man holding him. The unpainted face was a conflict of pain and comfort and Bruce knew his was exactly the same. Moving his own wounded arms up, he pulled the maniac towards him, melting into his heat. He couldn't bring himself to care about the pain that was elicited when Joker pressed against the cuts on his chest. He couldn't summon any emotion or a single shred of morality that would tell him to push the man away and run. All he could do was claw at this warm being and bask in the sensation brought on by the idea that maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe this man was just as trapped as he was and that there was a slim, tiny possibility that there would be some form of hope for both of them. That, though they would certainly die like this, caught up in the angry, violent web they had spun for themselves, they wouldn't let their life dwindle and fail alone. A silent promise made, passing between each of them as the clung on with everything they had.

A loud band erupted from the sky, startling each man as they pulled their heads back to look up. Colourful sparks coated the sky, lighting up the darkness in purples, reds and yellows. As if the heavens were celebrating this new found bond or deal which still remained inaudible, but severely binding none the less. As another explosion of colour whipped through the jet-black sky, realisation struck Bruce.

"New Year", he said, not caring that he only meant to think it, "I'd forgotten". His mind played with the idea of just how appropriate that was as he allowed a bemused smirk to coat his face. Leaving this aching, empty year behind him as he embarked on something new. Something potentially rewarding. He couldn't explain it but it was asthough he just _knew_ that something had changed. As if something fundemental had shifted, the nonsensical baggage and the falsehoods making way for something pre-ordained. He would be able to carry on his crusade, battle everything he wished never existed, fighting himself all the way. Only _now_ instead of a painful void inside, he held the knowledge that there was someone there. Someone who by all rights should be far from him, who should actually be carving out more of him, but who had found themselves in a similar situation. This person _knew._ Knew they were trapped, glued to their roles of chaos and order, villain and hero. Knew the emptiness that could haunt them. Knew that maybe they could change that just a little bit. And so they were bound together. Warmth buzzed through Bruce's frame as all of his forgotten feelings swam through him in a sourge of tingling emotion and the clocks began to chime, signaling the end of the beginning.

_3_

_2_

_1_

Cracked, and yet velvet, lips slid over his own and hands moved up his muscular arms to cup his face as Bruce buried his own in curls that he'd only just realised he'd been aching, trembling to touch. Electricity danced in a new tango and ignited an open flame between them. Moving his mouth against the scarred one of his adversary, he was struck with feelings he hadn't felt for a long time, if ever. _Finally_. Pulling back from callous lips he peered at his clown and smiled. The madman was already grinning, though without insanity, as he brushed his thumb over the mouth where his own had momentarily lingered. Bringing their lips together with more passion, they choked on each others moans as they fell into Bruce's bedroom. And the thought that maybe he now had a _bedroom _caused Bruce's tingling skin to buzz in peculiar elation. Tonight he'd be held, and he would hold and for once in his life, he could think about something other than death. It had always plagued him in some form, acting as a shadowy stalker through each stage of his life. But now, there was something more to occupy his mind. Something other than all of his mistakes and what could've been. He could focus on what _is._

And as they fell against the bed, hands roamed, caressing scars and wounds as tongues licked at each other languidly, yet desperately, each of them seeking the knowledge, the _proof_ that they weren't alone. The scent of passion and gunpowder was overpowering and Bruce bucked and groaned as clothes were shed, leaving it all behind. And as rainbows exploded in inky skies, like happened in cliched, poorly written movies, bare flesh was met with bare flesh and breathing stilled and then quickened. Falling into each other, for this single solitary moment that topped anything either had ever experienced, they were one. They were melting. And everything was complete.

_Happy New Year._

_***_

**So what do you guys think? It'd be cool to hear some of your thoughts, so please review. :3 Thanks for reading!**


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